The Price of Regret
by Lancer1968
Summary: Lancer Family Reunion - Sequel to "Sweet Dreams Are Made of These"


The Price of Regret

Summary: Lancer Family Reunion

Sequel to "Sweet Dreams Are Made of These"

Any and All Disclaimers Applicable

The Price of Regret by Vince Gill

Everyone knows the price of regret  
Things in life we never forget  
Haunted by what we've done wrong  
Yearning for the pain to be gone  
Some hide in a bottle and some die in vain  
Some wave a Bible and some just go insane  
Lay down your judgment or lay down your shame  
We're all God's children and we all breathe the same

You're black and I'm white  
You're blinded by sight  
Close your eyes and tell me the color of my skin  
If we let today  
Just pass away  
Without kindness and forgiveness, there's no light

Everyone's broken, oh, everyone's scarred  
All the things we needed wind up in the yard  
Brothers and sisters, I mean you no harm  
Healing's waiting in each other's arms

You're black and I'm white  
You're blinded by sight  
Close your eyes and tell me the color of my skin  
If we let today  
Just pass away  
Without kindness and forgiveness, there's no light

Everyone knows the price of regret  
Things in life we never forget

# # #

April, 1872 – Morro Coyo

Johnny snickered to himself, ten miles away from his destination and his stroke of good fortune at being paid one thousand dollars "listenin' money" from his ol' man. "Timin'," he thought as he flagged the approaching stage down, toting his heavy saddle, as he stood in the middle of the road. His horse had pulled up lame twenty miles or so back along the trail. Luck held for the horse, as there was a nearby farm house where he left the horse to the older couple to tend to, rather than put him down. Misfortune also was with him, as they didn't have a horse to trade him for, instead he got a decent dinner, a night's sleep in their barn and a solid breakfast before he started walking towards his destiny.

"Ya goin' ta Morro Coyo?" Johnny questioned the driver.

"Unless I'm lost," came back the reply.

"Ya mind if I get a lift?" he asked.

"Sure thing, we'll take care of that gun of yours," the grizzled driver said as the shotgun messenger armed with a coach gun traveling alongside the driver as a guard aimed his weapon at Johnny's frame.

"Sure," Johnny answered. He smiled agreeably enough as he tossed his pistol upwards, however, he wasn't the least bit satisfied to not be armed, as "he wore his gun outside his pants for all the honest world to feel."* Little did the two men know that had Johnny wanted, both of them could have been lying on the ground, nursing wounds. He quickly surmised that this wasn't worth getting into trouble for such a short ride.

One of the passengers, a blond man, had stuck his head out the window to observe the interaction taking place, he said to the others, "Seems like we're picking up another passenger."

"I am naked without it," Johnny thought as he flung open the coach's door, nodded to the passengers and quickly assessing the packed interior. "Dios! It was less crowded in that Mexican cell," he thought. "Have ta make do."

"Hiya!" shouted the driver as he dropped the lines against the backs of the team of horses, the stage jerked forward suddenly, giving Johnny no time to make a decision of where to take a seat, his body was lurched into the fancy greenhorn sitting by the window. The other man on the seat was a Franciscan friar judging by his brown robes and simple corded rope, with three knots worn around his waist. Johnny knew that the knots represented poverty, chastity and obedience, the cornerstones of the Franciscan Order, having spent a few months as a young orphan in an order. Johnny didn't care for poverty, chastity or obedience, having failed at all three during his misguided youth.

Johnny quickly turned, in a fluid cat-like motion to shift his narrow frame between the two men, sitting squarely on the fancy dan in the process, they both stared at each other, as Johnny pointed to the specks of dirt his rump had left on the dude, "Didn't mean ta mess up your outfit," he grinned.

"Can't be helped," the dude answered disdainfully as he looked at the man he perceived to be a roughneck and attempted to mold his frame into the side of the coach.

# # #

Johnny felt like a thousand dollars, dressed in his bright orange guayabera that the dark-haired senorita, Catalina Ortega had embroidered specifically to his specifications, with butterflies and floral designs running down both sides of the row of white bone buttons. Catalina had also sewn the gold trim to his form-fitting bolero dark colored jacket and had added rows of concho buttons to his matching dark colored trousers. She had done her part to make him look like a vaquero, a Mexican cowboy in his charro outfit.

"Let the ol' man know what side of the border, I hang my hat," he said as he sat squashed between the friar and the fancy dude. He then recalled his premonition of this precise scenario just a few weeks ago. "Brujería!" he said out loud. (Witchcraft).

"Beg your pardon," asked the greenhorn next to him. "Did you say something?"

"Nothin'," he replied. "Just a feelin', I've done this before."

"Déjà vu is real," the Franciscan friar interjected.

"Qué?" asked Johnny, looking at the friar.

"It's the feeling that one has lived through the present situation before," he explained.

"Dios," said Johnny, looking perplexed. He wondered to himself, "Am I goin' ta regret this day?"

"Fear not, my son," continued the friar. "Dios cuidará de ti." (God will watch over you.)

"Lo que será sera," murmured Johnny. (What will be will be.)

"Dios siempre caminará contigo, hijo mío," the friar answered. "(God will always walk with you, my son.)

"No si él sabe lo que he hecho y hare," Johnny said the timbre of his voice tinged with regret. (Not if he knows what I've done and will do.)

The friar looked at Johnny to said, "Estar en paz con todos los hombres." (Be at peace with all men.) "Ve con Dios," he said as he departed the stage, now arrived in Morro Coyo. (Go with God.) He pressed a small bible into Johnny's hands and exited the stage.

# # #

Johnny looked at the book the friar had given him and tugged it inside his jacket's interior pocket before he stepped off the stage to retrieve his pistol. His head was reeling from the turn of events, wondering how he had managed to live out the dream that he had a few weeks previously.

Meanwhile, the blond man stepped off the stage and took time to stretch his long legs while he looked around the depot, as if he was looking for someone to meet him.

"Ah, Mr. Lancer," came a feminine voice.

"That's me," answered the blond, as he retrieved his luggage from the driver.

"Yeah," a second voice replied, as the blond man turned to look at the dark-haired man who was retrieving his saddle.

"I'm sorry, which one of you said?" a young girl asked. She, along with two cowboys had stepped over to greet the passengers.

"I did," the men answered in unison, both staring at the other, in confusion.

She pointed and took a guess, "You're Johnny."

"That's right," Johnny replied.

"Then you're Scott Lancer," she continued as she smiled at the fancy dude.

"No ma'am, he's no Lancer," Johnny stated forcibility while he slammed the coach door shut to emphasize his statement. "My mother only had one kid, and that was me."

"Likewise," said a very baffled Scott Lancer, as he glared at the dark-haired man.

"Oh well, we didn't expect you both at the same time, but actually you're right. It's Mr. Lancer that had two," explained the dark-haired girl.

"Two what?" croaked Scott.

"Wives and sons. You two," she answered as if this explained the entire Lancer family tree in five simple words.

The brothers gawked at each other, Scott in shock and Johnny in amusement as he pointedly sized the blond dandy's entire outfit, laughing at the ill-suited lightly colored grey clothes that he wore, as Scott placed his derby hat upon his head.

# # #

Teresa O'Brien drove the team that pulled the buckboard towards Lancer with her two attending cowboys following closely behind. They traveled across wide open land, where hills and valleys were dotted by mooing cattle that roamed free to graze off the tall grasses; spring wildflowers were springing to life as entire sections of range were filled with bright colored flowers. There were groves of tall standing trees and ponds of water nestled amongst the surrounding mountain ranges.

"Tell me, Teresa, you work for my father?" inquired Scott as he sat adjacent to the young girl, while Johnny rode in the back of the buckboard. He didn't mind as it gave him the opportunity to listen, to watch and to calculate unobserved by this greenhorn and young snip of a girl to their conversation as he observed the lay of the land that they traveled over. The skills he employed kept him alive, so far.

"Our father," Scott added, as Johnny slightly turned his head to look at the blond.

"I was born on Lancer. My father was the foreman here for thirteen years," she replied.

"Was?" questioned Scott.

"Well, he was murdered, last November. The same time that Mr. Lancer was shot," she continued.

Johnny turned his head towards her with interest in this statement, "Murdered by who?" he softly asked.

Teresa looked to glance over her shoulder at Johnny, "Mr. Lancer will tell you that," she answered. "What he won't tell you, is how much it means to him that you both have come here."

The brothers momentarily looked at each other, and then were lost in their own thoughts of regret for what it had taken for their father to reach out to them, only in his time of need, not either of their times of need, had he bothered to find them.

Teresa pulled the team to a halt, once the valley opened up to admire the hacienda far down below, as both the brothers stood up to gaze down below at the great, rambling estancia.

"There it is, far as the eye can see, the most beautiful place in the whole wide world, Lancer," she said with much satisfaction, not realizing how this one vista, was like a sharp knife wound to Johnny's heart, who closed his eyes in boundless pain as he grimaced at what might have been in his own life.

Meanwhile, Scott looked on in befuddlement. Both men were filled with deep-seated pain as they realized that the price of regret from their father, Murdoch Lancer, was one thousand dollars for an hour of their time. This didn't sit well with either brother as they slumped back into their seats to speculate at this man, their father who had only reached out to them in his hour of need and not for the love of his sons.

Hazy memories flashed back to Johnny as he recalled that it had been his father who had tossed him high up into the air, as he realized that he, like Teresa, had both been born at Lancer. He needed to calm himself down, do as Val had told him he needed to learn to do, "a man who masters patience masters everything else."

He patiently waited as Teresa drove the team down to meet this man, while his heart beat rapidly in his chest. His stomach churned, filled with those damn butterflies that weren't settling down, instead flapping like they were insane. He needed a drink.

Scott's thoughts were mired with realization that this man, his father, certainly had the financial means to have come and reclaimed him anytime he had wanted to. Instead he had been left to wonder his entire life, why his father never came. Growing up without a mother wasn't easy, but she had died giving him life, so he couldn't fault her. But this man, this Murdoch Lancer was another story. He had some explaining to do as to why he had waited so long to reach out to him. His judgment of this man was unsympathetic, as he believed that Murdoch Lancer was without shame, for his liability of causing indisputable damage to him, and so it seemed to this dark-haired stranger who sat behind him, his brother, correction, half-brother.

# # #

A man stationed on top of the hacienda, yelled repeatedly once the buckboard had been sighted, "Muchachos! Muchachos!" gaining all the workers' attention, as well as the patriarch of the spread, who stood looking out his tall arched windows inside the great room. He was shocked to see not one but two men riding inside the buckboard. "Was it possible, that they both have arrived on the same day?" he thought.

His face was etched with anxiety and excruciating regret, as he gathered that he was finally going to meet both of his sons for the first time since they were very, very small. He wondered how his sons would treat him…perhaps without any trace of kindness. With kindness seems far-fetched to him. Would there be any forgiveness offered on their part? Most likely not. His sons might never hold any regard towards him if they couldn't leave their past lives to yesterday's darkness and reach out to him in today's light. He would try his best to reach out to them, this was his goal.

A pointed rap to the door came more swiftly than Murdoch Lancer expected it would as he was lost in his own tangled cobwebs of his mind of the wasted years that had ebbed away, into darkness, never to see the light of day again.

"It's open," he responded as he struggled with his cane to get up to his feet. He walked towards these men, who had entered the room and knew that yes, these were his sons. Scott's polished manners took over as he removed his derby and approached his father, removing his gloves to stare intently at the tall, grey-haired man standing in front of him.

Johnny stood to Scott's side, leaving his hat on, sizing up this giant of a man with a look of undeniable hesitation.

Of all the things that Murdoch could think to say to greet his sons, "Drink?" wasn't what he truly meant to say, especially as it came out of his mouth in a harsh, accusatory tone. He should have at least said, "Welcome" or even "Hello."

Again, Scott relied upon his breeding to politely and firmly respond, "No, thank you."

Murdoch glowered at him; his disposition didn't settle down as he pointed his cane towards Johnny, "You drink, don't you?"

"When I know the man, I'm drinking with, yeah," Johnny responded with a tone as hard as steel. He wasn't going to go easy on this man, who had deserted him and his mother, sentencing them to a life of poverty while he lived his life like a rich man.

"You've got your mother's temper," responded Murdoch. To which Johnny gave this man an arctic glare, he felt that he was doing his part to be patient, waiting this man out but was getting close to his tipping point.

Murdoch not pleased by his striking such a low blow to Johnny, turned to Scott and tried a contradictory approach, softened, "You've got your mother's eyes." For which Scott didn't welcome his observation, thought to himself, "How dare this man utter anything about my mother to me?"

Murdoch seeing that neither one of his sons were responding to his remarks, turned away from them, "I want a drink," he said as if he could turn to a bottle to hide his regrets.

"Ya got something ta say, ol' man, say it," Johnny said softly.

Murdoch spun around to look intently upon his sons; his face was hard, void of any warm welcoming sentiment, which wasn't the desired effect that he had wanted to emulate. He was at a lost at what else he should do, moved to his desk to grab the offered listening money, hoping that by holding up his end of the bargain, these two would somehow settle down with their demeanor towards him. It was worth the shot; otherwise, this gathering would be for nothing if all they did was nip at each other, like caged coyotes.

Murdoch slapped two envelopes to the desk, "A thousand dollars apiece," he said as he sat down behind his desk. Johnny marched over to grab one of the envelopes.

"Maybe you better count it," Murdoch instructed.

"I plan ta," Johnny said as he glared at his father. He was haunted by what had been done wrong to him by this man and yet he yearned for the pain to be gone. This money meant that to him. He had no intention of being short-changed by this man, ever again. 

"Come and get your money," Murdoch instructed Scott.

"I'll settle for this drink," Scott said as he wasn't going to be ordered about by his father. He planned to establish his own set of self-imposed regulations to live his life by, not this man's orders.

"You'll do as you're told," barked Murdoch. This meeting wasn't going accordingly to any of his plans.

"Will I?" challenged Scott. Scott steadfastly refused to recognize the price of his father's regrets. He knew that no matter how long he lived, he would never forget this day. 

Johnny listened with a sense of grudging approval towards this greenhorn, standing his ground. He liked a man with grit and not an easy push-over. Maybe Scott Lancer had a future at being a man that he would like the opportunity to get to know better.

"I want no favors from either one of you," Murdoch said, softening his tone a little tad.

Scott chuckled as he walked back towards the other two, "Far be it from me, to spoil a family reunion," he sardonically stated as he took his envelope. "Thanks. What do I call you? Under the circumstances, father hardly seems…"

"Call me anything you like," gruffly retorted Murdoch. "We're strangers to each other, maybe that's my fault, maybe it isn't."

"No apology necessary," said Scott. He didn't really mean this, but he realized that pissing off this man wasn't going to smooth over anything, so he opted to take the higher road. "He's broken and scarred, just like me and maybe just like Johnny too, for all I know."

Murdoch, not giving in even a little, barked, "You'll get no apology from me. If the air needs clearing, let's clear it." He moved to stand in front of Scott and looked him in his eyes, standing only a few inches taller, he struck an imposing stance. "Your mother's family thought she was daft to marry me. Not a year off the boat from Inverness. And maybe they were right. You were born, she died and I left you in their hands. Period."

Scott looked like he wanted to say something but Murdoch turned to Johnny, "Couple of years later, I met your mother, down in Matamoras. She…, we got married. Two years after that I woke one morning found her gone, you along with her."

Johnny looked at him, internally he was enraged as he attempted to keep his temper under check, he snarled, "That ain't that way I heard it."

"I don't care what you heard. It's passed, bad or good, right or wrong, it's passed and gone. We're talking about now. What's happening out there, to this ranch."

"The girl Teresa, said that you were having some trouble," Scott said.

"Last fall, somebody made off with one of our horses, my segundo and I trailed him to a place called, Morro Coyo. We walked right into it. O'Brien was killed and I end up with this leg that has gone sour on me. Since then, my fences have been cut, beef stolen; workers frighten off, burned out. Three months ago I had 150 vaqueros, now I got 18."

Johnny smiled ruefully, realizing that this ol' man didn't give two shits about him or his brother, "Well, then it's the ranch, you're worried about, huh?" He knew that this ol' man was only interested in protecting his property not his sons, unless they could be used for his selfish gains.

Murdoch turned to look at him, as he realized that he wasn't handling this situation in the best possible manners. Turning to look out his arched windows, his tone soften somewhat, "I love this ground more than anything God ever created; I've got a grey hair for every good blade of grass you see out there. They're trying to drive me off this place." 

"Who?" Johnny questioned. He didn't know if the ol' man was aware that he had confirmed Johnny's suspicions of his property having more value than his own sons did to him. "Weren't we created by God too?" he thought.

"You'll hear them called land pirates, that's close enough."

"You mean to tell me, that men can just come along and drive you off your land," Scott asked with the hint of skepticism.

"They're doing it. Since I was hit, they've taken three other estancias," explained Murdoch

"What about the law?" Scott asked.

"There isn't any. They killed two good men, Joe Cappahard from Modesto, Peterson from San Jose. The others quit. Found business elsewhere. The only law we got here is pack law. The big dog gets the meat. By summer they'll own half of this state."

"Big dog, got a name?" asked Johnny with curiosity.

"Pardee," Murdoch said.

"Day, Day Pardee," supplied Johnny.

"You know him?" inquired Murdoch.

"Oh yes, I know him. He's a gunfighter and he's pretty good. Yeah, I say that you have some kinda of trouble," Johnny grinned as he faced his father.

"How many men does he have, this Pardee?" asked Scott, his military mind already formulating possible tactics.

"Twenty or twenty-five," said Murdoch.

Scott said with attentiveness, "Doesn't exactly put him into the class of Attila the Hun."

"You've got the floor," replied Murdoch.

Scott walked towards the wall map of Lancer, "Well, it seems to me you have very simple military problem, here. One, find the enemy; two engage him and three destroy him."

Johnny chuckled at Scott's simplicity with grasping the situation. This wasn't a military battlefield; this was the wide open range, where fights were not done in any military formation. Fights were ruthless, where back-shooting was much more widespread than any eastern would know. As was going right up to someone and shooting them directly in their head, which was the perfect method of gun slinging in Tombstone, as it was one hundred perfect effective.

"Something funny?" Scott angrily asked as he glared at Johnny.

"He's saying that it's not that kind of a fight. But you could be wrong," Murdoch said as he glanced at Johnny. "I've got 18 good men, only the best stayed. You two make twenty," reasoned Murdoch.

Johnny looked at him, "Now wait a minute. This is listenin' money. Now all of a sudden, you're talkin' about gun money. Let me tell ya somethin', that's extra. That don't come on the lunch."

"I want more than your guns," Murdoch stated with assertion.

"What more?" asked Johnny.

"I want your arms and your legs and your guts, if you got any," Murdoch stated with finality.

Johnny grinned, "All right, say I come up with all these arms, legs and guts you're talkin' about. What do you come up with?

"One third," said Murdoch.

"Of what?" Johnny pressed.

"Everything you see out there," pointed Murdoch. Johnny walked to the arched window while his father continued. "One hundred thousand acres, twenty thousand head of beef, the finest campinos and palominos in the San Joaquin.

"One-third, huh?" Johnny asked. "You wouldn't mind putting that down on a piece of paper. No offense."

Murdoch stepped over to Johnny, while Scott looked on, "Will this do?" He handed Johnny a document. "Agreement of partnership, equal shared to each of use, but I call the tune." Scott joined them to look on.

"Agreed?" asked Murdoch. Scott smiled and nodded his concurrence. He realized that this was the fresh start that he had dream about and had wanted to get out of Boston to avoid marriage.

Johnny grinned as he reviewed the document, "You didn't sign it," he pointed out.

"Nothing for nothing," stated Murdoch. "You'll get your share of this ranch, when you prove to me that you're man enough to hold."

"When's that?" Johnny asked cautiously.

"When you get the man, who put the bullet in my back," Murdoch said drily.

"Pardee," Johnny said.

"That's the one," agreed Murdoch.

"Well, let me tell ya, ol' man, ya want a lot."

"Take it or leave it," said Murdoch digging his spurs into the direction of the conversation.

"I'll take it, but only if, ya follow my, tune on this situation," Johnny said. "I've gone up against Pardee before and know how to flush him out to beat him at his own game."

"Yuma?" Murdoch asked.

"Ya know about Yuma?" Johnny smirked.

"I've had Pinkertons chasing after you since your name appeared in the papers," Murdoch said. "Did you know that Sheriff Val Crawford arrived in Green River, a few weeks ago?"

"Val? Val's nearby," drawled Johnny. "Guess he got my telegram then."

"You sent him a telegram?" Murdoch inquired.

"I did, from Nogales, just ta let him know that I survived the revolution," Johnny smirked, "I didn't reckon that he'd pull-up stakes and move here."

"Let me point this out, John that according to the Pinkerton report I received, you barely survived the revolution. Crawford took the post of sheriff but I've yet to meet him," added Murdoch. "He's the only lawman between Green River, here and San Francisco, but has no jurisdiction in Morro Coyo, where we can't get a sheriff to stay because of Pardee. It's completely lawless, which is why Teresa goes into Morro Coyo with an armed escort only when necessary."

"Don't know if ya know all there is ta know about me and Yuma, ol' man. Pardee was there, tryin' ta take over the entire town. If ya know any of this, then you know that I get results, if I have a mind ta," Johnny responded.

Murdoch stared at Johnny and nodded that he was aware. He faced Scott, "You're a component of this too. What say you in this matter? Are you willing to listen to your younger brother on how to handle this gunfighter?"

"Seems to me, sir, that I need to know a lot more about Johnny and his judgment before I can make any decision," Scott replied.

"I suggest that you two get to know each other quickly," said Murdoch, at the sound of the incessant ringing of the fire bell, told him that there was more trouble looming on Lancer. "That's the fire bell ringing and we're needed in the yard, now."

# # #

After all available hands attempted to put out the small corn field fire, ultimately, was left to burn itself out. Close supervision of the crop fire was done by trenching a fire line to not allow any portion of the fire to jump into other nearby crops. Only after this was done did the Lancers return to the hacienda to clean-up.

"That was the work of Pardee," explained Murdoch. "How his men got so close to the hacienda is a mystery to me."

"Not ta me," Johnny said. "He probably had someone dress-up like one of your vaqueros and ride right into here and no one noticed. Or someone set a very long fuse and was watchin' from the hills. Either way, I don't cotton ta my fields bein' burned."

"Our fields, brother," Scott interjected.

"Yeah, that's right, our fields, Boston, said Johnny, guessing that Scott would bristle at the moniker.

During their evening meal the men discussed possible plans to contain the land pirates.

Johnny in his soft, quiet manner relate some of the planning regarding the element of surprise that was used in Yuma, and how he and Val Crawford has been able to clean-up the town under their plans of covert operations. So successful were their plans, that the only person who had gotten away had been Day Pardee and that was only because of the confusion of the multiple explosions taking place around the town. Had Pardee known the entire details of the story how Val Crawford had been working with Johnny those details weren't published in any of the papers, but had Pardee known, he would have been pissed at Johnny Madrid, for certain.

Val, in his wisdom, had made certain to make an example out of Johnny, just in case any information got back to any member of Milt Hamilton's group of miscreants that hadn't been caught. As far as Johnny and Val were concerned, no one was the wiser. When all was said and done, only Day Pardee had escaped by the skin of his teeth. How much gold he had been able to take away remained a mystery. All Johnny knew was that Day had left him high and dry, sitting in the Yuma jail.

"Which works ta our benefit now," explained Johnny. "Pardee only knows of me, as another hired gun hawk, lookin' for my best shot. He won't be suspicious of me, if I ride into Morro Coyo to find him," Johnny continued. "Let him think I'm joining up with him again."

"It could be too perilous, Johnny," said Murdoch. "I don't know if I can let you do this."

Johnny grinned, "Ol' man, I'm the only one sittin' here at this table that can do this and get away with it. It's no more dangerous than it is for ya ta sit here and wait for them ta come and get ya. And Pardee will come for ya at some point. He has ta, if he wants ta drive ya out."

Scott looked at Johnny, ""You mean to tell me that this friend of yours, Val Crawford, actually, locked you up to conclude a ninety-day sentence? Some friend, he is."

"Yeah, he did," Johnny drawled. "He made me serve my three-month probation too, under his watch. He never did let me get away with anything. He made me a better man that I would have, on my own, Boston, even if I didn't like it."

Johnny noticed Murdoch's grimace at his words, "Sorry ol' man, but it's the truth."

"This is why you trust him?" Scott pressed.

Johnny chuckled, "Yeah, I trust him with my life. Hell, he raised me for almost the last nine years of my life, taught me a lot."

"I understand, John. I guess I'm relieved that you found a man who could point you in the right directions. Do we all agree that Johnny will make contact with his friend, Sheriff Crawford to hatch-up another plan to take down the land pirates?" as Murdoch.

"And Pardee, too," Scott added.

"Yes, especially Pardee. Gotta cut off the head of the snake," drawled Johnny.

Scott got up to refill his drink and Murdoch's, Johnny declined. "Need ta keep my head clear, one's my limit when I'm gettin' ready for battle. I'll need a horse."

"As will I," added Scott.

Murdoch looked at his sons, "I'll have Ciprano cut out some horses for you to look over in the morning. I expect that you'll both like to choose your own mounts. There are plenty to select from."

"Good," Johnny said as he stepped outside, followed by Scott. Murdoch observed as his light-haired son and dark-haired son were standing side by side watching the sinking sun in the west as they softly spoke to each other.

From his vantage point of his desk, Murdoch sat back, staring at his untouched refreshed drink as he listened to his sons' conversation. He was so grateful that Johnny hadn't died in vain in México and was as equally grateful that Scott hasn't died during his service in the Civil War. There was so much to make up for all those lost years, for now he wondered if he would ever finished paying the price for all his numerous regrets.

He raised his glass to make a silent toast, "Gu deagh fhortan agus slàinte nan Lancers. (To the good fortune and health of the Lancers). It's not the end of the Lancers, it's only the beginning," he said to himself as his sons continued their conversation while he sipped his drink.

~Fin~

Sun Dancer

Note: Another sequel to unite the Lancers collectively for the first time. Needed to tie this to when Johnny, Val and Day Pardee cross paths in the sequel, "Do It to Them". Thanks to Samuel A. Peeples for his story that I borrowed from in order to get "Do It to Them" sequel staged correctly.

In this sequel – the song references "black and white", which in the song refers to skin color of lovers, my reference is to Johnny and Scott and their Yin-Yang status of lightness and darkness. It works for me. But the most important tone pertains to the underlining theme of regret that each of the Lancers experienced in the "High Riders" pilot. It was prominent, as to the price each had paid.

Yin and yang can be thought of as complementary (rather than opposing) forces that interact to form a dynamic system in which the whole is greater than the assembled parts. According to this philosophy, everything has both yin and yang aspects (for instance, shadow cannot exist without light). Neither can the brothers, once they have been united.

*Honors to Townes Van Zandt, an unappreciated songwriter of "Pancho and Lefty," made famous by Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard. This single lyric pegs Johnny Madrid perfectly.


End file.
